Silverfish
by Prairie Blossom
Summary: Matthew had a lot of plans for his life.  None of them included getting thrown overboard in a nautical storm, being stranded on a deserted island, or becoming a plaything for a childish merman.  But you can't always choose the cards life deals you.  AU
1. Chapter 1

_**Prairie Blossom**__**:**_ Welcome to our fic, everyone! In case you didn't know already, I'm Prairie...

_**Arashi91**__**:**_ ...and I'm Arashi! This was an amazingly-fun collab to do (all of the credit for the idea goes to the epic Prairie here!) and we hope y'all enjoy it as much as we enjoyed writing it.~

_**PB**__**:**_ Also, I do not own Hetalia. Do you own Hetalia, Arashi?

_**A91**__:_ Oh no, though of course I wish I did. Pfff- I'd still be writing fanfics about it though.

_**PB**__**:**_ Yeah, me too. ^_^'

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><p><strong>Silverfish<strong>

**Prairie Blossom & Arashi91**

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><p>…<em>Chick…<em>

…_Chick…_

…_Chick…_

Skilled hands brought the knife down on the dry piece of bamboo again and again, shaving off a shred of wood with each strike. Thumb and forefinger rotated the stick slowly, briefly revealing the smallest of imperfections to the vanishing light before swiftly slicing them away with a _chick_ of stainless steel on the rod. Before long, the almost mechanical sound of the work slowed, and the silence between the moments the blade fell grew longer and longer until all that could be heard was the sound of wind blowing over the almost stagnant water.

From his seat on top of the rock poking a few feet above the sea, Ivan Braginsky craned his neck back and frowned at the high but thick cloud that wafted over the sun. A storm was coming, he knew. His instincts all but screamed this one single fact at him, a sixth sense even he didn't completely understand. Fortunately, his project was nearly completed. He laid the stick over the basalt stone and his lap so he could look down on the sharpened point and carefully, _carefully_ reached beside him and picked up a bangle of cream-colored barbs: stingray tails wrapped in twine. Intently and expertly, he wrapped the point of the rod tight with the twine several times around, making sure to secure the cord well in the grooves he created before tying it all in a firm knot, completing his handmade spear with a quality that would have made indigenous hunters and warriors envious of the weapon.

Just as he finished, however, the hairs on the back of Ivan's head prickled to a distant sound, an unusual humming that emerged from the utter stillness in the air. He froze immediately, and two mauve eyes narrowed and scrutinized the view of the horizon. It was every bit as blank and empty as Ivan had always seen it, save for a small lone island protruding from the surface in the distance. Gripping his spear and his knife with one hand, Ivan cautiously slid from his perch into the ocean without making as much as a splash. Once the salt water was up to his neck, he edged around the side of his boulder and peered at an unusual sight for the area around his home.

"A speedboat," he muttered, though his voice was somewhat scratchy from disuse. Indeed, it was a speedboat, albeit a small one probably meant for afternoon thrill rides rather than actual work. Ivan ran a pale hand through his even paler hair; he supposed that a small adventuring craft was more likely to venture through his portion of the reef than a passenger or even a fishing vessel. After all, the unpredictable waves that might be calm for one minute and nightmarishly wild the next have smashed no less than seven unfortunate boats against the reef. Judging by the intruder's lack of regard for the dangerous hidden terrain below and the direction of the chilly wind on which the tempest was riding, Ivan guessed that the tally would soon rise to eight.

He made sure to stay concealed from sight behind the rock as his eyes trailed skyward, a gentle frown tugging at the corners of his mouth: the cloud that he had seen earlier had multiplied to cover most of the sky that occupied his periphery, effectively dimming the sun and his surroundings by a few shades. His gaze shifted then from the sky above to the speedboat that had caught his attention as the same strange tingles from before resonated within his head, knocking at malleable temples. "That storm is closer. It feels violent," he breathed, speaking to no one in particular.

The opaque, cobalt waters surrounding him began to roll with more vigor and gusto than just minutes before, forming picayune waves with choppy crests. The charcoal clouds above let loose a sheet of driving rain, drenching everything that happened to stay dry out at sea. Ivan's grip around his spear and knife tautened as he watched the speedboat bounce off of the tops of the newly-surfacing waves, approaching the reef at an almost breakneck pace. The breeze that lulled above the ocean seemingly moments before whipped itself up into powerful gusts within the span of a few seconds, tousling the bushy, argentine locks of Ivan's hair. "At this rate the wind will push that boat into the reef... I wonder if the driver knows about it?" he mumbled, the howling of the wind and the crash of laden water against water successfully muting him as if he had uttered nothing at all.

Within the span of the next few moments, chaos ensued: the waves broke against each other like hearty thunder rolling in the distance, one formidable gust of wind striking the boat as if it were infused with lead and noticeably turning the vehicle a few degrees more toward the reef. The distant urge to aid the boat piqued his thoughts in the back of his mind, but Ivan shook off the notion. He knew that there was nothing to be done, now that the boat so dangerously toed the line between open water and the shallows barely eclipsing the reef. The boat careened more toward the submerged ledge before its bow collided with the natural structure head-on, its stern popping off of the water for a moment before settling back in. Ivan didn't miss the body that had been catapulted from the manmade vehicle, barely avoiding smacking into the reef by a few inches; from his perch he could make out the distinct swatch of champagne-hued hair and the street clothes that hung from a narrow frame. _I wonder if that person is dead... should I go find out?_

He didn't have to, for a few seconds later a frantic splashing erupted in the turbulent water, though the effects of the struggle were weak and fought futilely against the strong currents in the ocean. Ivan retreated just a little further behind the boulder, though his muscles tensed up as he continued to witness the scene before him. The person was alive, he could tell that much for sure, but his or her swimming was very poor. There wasn't so much as a scream to clue Ivan in on the person's gender, just the smallest sounds of desperate gasps for air before they were briefly silenced as white-capped waves caved in and briefly knocked the poor person under. It wouldn't be long before he or she became too exhausted to stay above the surface and drowned, unless someone stepped in to rescue him.

That 'someone,' Ivan realized to his heightened apprehension, would not come from the boat. Another silhouette, this one with chestnut-brown clothes and sandy-brown hair, grabbed hold of the steering wheel and turned it _hard_ back in the direction the vessel came from with a clearly masculine shout, away from his terror-filled companion. Fortunately for the boater, he was able to take control of his craft, and with a mighty roar of the motors he sped away from the reef before a similar misfortune had the chance to happen to him. Ivan reflexively gripped the crevices of the rock; the man didn't even seem to notice that the other person fell and unintentionally left him to his watery grave. "Swim, swim," Ivan found himself chanting under his breath. It was no use, though, as those hysterical arms pushed futilely against the torrent one last time before finally slipping into the deep.

"_Chyort voz'mi_," he swore and slammed his spear and the dagger back on top of his perch before diving into the water. From there he raced as fast as he could to the spot he saw the blond submerge, not even breaking to the surface once. His eyes darted to and fro, but mostly to the sea floor, trying to find any sign of the man: a red shirt, golden hair, or a bubble of breath leaving lungs. Ivan was just about to give up and declare his efforts pointless when he caught a glimpse of some movement in the lower-right corner of his vision: tiny ripples as if something—or someone—was caught in the seaweed. Ivan immediately swam to investigate, not expecting to find anything, and so his heart stopped when he did.

Both of the man's (for it was a man after all) legs and one of his arms were tangled in the kelp, and although Ivan was able to make quick work of the bindings by ripping through them with his bare hands, he still felt a small pang of regret for not having the knife with him. However, the moment the man's arm was torn free, his body began to sink again to the sandy bottom. Ivan lunged after him, grabbed him by his shoulder, and dragged him to the surface with every ounce of strength he had. He still feared—couldn't _help_ but fear—that his efforts were all in vain, that he was too late and all he would be able to offer this person was a meaningless wish to rest in peace before returning the body to the ocean that claimed this life. But against all odds, when Ivan broke the surface with the blond in his firm grasp, he was rewarded with the smallest wheeze of an inhalation in his ear and the warmth of an exhalation against his cheek.

Amethyst eyes scrutinized the unconscious young man in Ivan's grasp as he adjusted his hold to make it easier to swim: his gaze swept across the slight, blunt features of the blond's face, noticing in passing the odd curly strand of hair that stuck away from his head though his hair was soaked, alighting on closed eyes and slightly parted rosebud lips. _I can't leave him out here, but I can't take him to the nearest city either... ah, he looks very calm, like he's sleeping. _That thought was accompanied with a small, tender smile.

Ivan's head jerked up at the sound of a seagull lingering in the distant sky above an island that he frequented, blanketed by a dense forest and bordered by velveteen, white sand beaches. He nodded to himself then, arms tightening around the narrow frame of the young man as he started toward the deserted land mass. _I'll have to leave once I find a place for him to rest without the animals disturbing him, and without risking heat exhaustion, then I must stay out of sight... I wonder how he will get home?_

The answer blindsided him, echoing in the vast cavern of his mind as if someone else had responded instead of the inner machinations of thought: _he won't._ An enigmatic grin piqued the corners of Ivan's mouth as he came within feet of the island's shore. "I haven't had a friend in a long time. This should be fun," he hummed under his breath as he rested the flaxen-haired man against the sand in the shade of a fan-like palm tree, far enough up the shore so that high tide wouldn't touch him. "Sleep well for now... my pet."

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><p><em>To be continued…<em>

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><p><span>Translations:<span>

_Chyort voz'mi_—Russian: "Damn it"


	2. Chapter 2

_**PB**__**:**_ Hey everyone, we're back!~

_**A91**_**:** With a vengeance, even! I found this chappie a lot of fun to write, so hopefully it'll be fun to read for y'all. =) /Nudges PB./ Do we own Hetalia?

_**PB**__**: **_I don't think so. If we do, we're sure missing out on a bunch of royalties.

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><p>Matthew opened his eyes, and quickly shut them again as blinding sunlight seared his pupils.<p>

With a moan of discomfort, he brought his hands to his face and started rubbing his eyelids, grimacing slightly as he felt tiny grains brush away on his fingertips. This time when he tried to see, he shielded his sight and blinked rapidly to adjust to the brightness for about a minute until he could comfortably distinguish his hand from the surrounding…leaves?

Suddenly and without warning, the events of the day before flooded back to the forefront of his consciousness. His cousin, the boat ride, the storm that appeared out of nowhere, the feeling of being catapulted into the air and crashing into the sea, the sheer _terror_ that coursed through his system as he struggled to stay above the water, unable to even so much as scream for help. He saw Bruce clutch to the steering wheel and turn it _hard_, but the vessel sped away just as his stamina reached its end. He sank, and…

Matthew's breath caught in his throat and he jolted abruptly to a sitting position, his glasses dangling limply on their cord around his neck. He was on a beach. He was on a beach, on a deserted island, in the _middle of the ocean_! An estranged cry that Matthew almost didn't recognize as his voice croaked out of his throat as the many, _many _implications of this one single fact washed over him. Among the forefront of these were questions that he never in his life expected to sincerely ask himself: how would he eat? How would he drink? Where would he sleep? Would someone come looking for him? What if he would be forced to run for his life from hungry cannibals until his life met an abrupt end as he was slow-roasted over a bonfire?

Thankfully, that last fear was alleviated as soon as he turned around to face his new geographical prison. The sandy beach on which he sat extended back about thirty feet before it was replaced with an assortment of tropical flora packed densely together. The brush was thick, to be sure, but when Matthew shakily lifted the glasses hanging on his neck and slid them onto his nose, he could barely make out a few specks of blue sky. Not much, but enough to know that the island was small and uninhabited. Good news for his chances of being eaten, bad news for his chances of being rescued.

It took Matthew a minute to straighten to his feet, turning wholly toward the stretch of unmarked sand that eventually led to the edge of the forest's foliage. His stomach grumbled distantly, he couldn't consciously recall the last time that he had eaten as he traipsed along the shore, hastily approaching the first few trees that rimmed the formidable patch of greenery in the center of the island. Before the crash, that he could be sure of, but now that seemed like it happened eons ago. _It would probably be good to find something to eat right about now, and to stock up for later. Who knows how long I'll be on this island._

The thought sent foreboding shivers waltzing down his spine as he crossed into the verdant part of the island. The air here felt heavier, much more moist and tepid than the crisp, saline breezes that fluttered across the shoreline now a good few meters behind him. Bespectacled indigo eyes shot skyward, visually reaping the trees in the hopes that they bore fruit; a gentle smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his hopes were confirmed. A good distance above his head dangled already ripe coconuts, accompanied by some bananas in tandem scattered about against the canopy of trees that noticeably dimmed the filtered sunlight that broke through the vacant spots between immense, fan-like leaves. A sigh of relief slipped through slightly parted lips as Matthew halted in his tracks, now outrightly gazing upward. _Well, at least I don't have to kill anything to get something to eat… yet._

His gaze shifted, following the trees that bore both coconuts and bananas: the main trunks of the trees grew into the ground at an angle acute enough that would allow Matthew to climb them. Matthew cheered inwardly, yet... something about the bark of the trees bothered him. He trotted up to the base of one of the coconut trees as his hand reached out, slightly calloused fingertips tracing an obvious blemish, seemingly made by something extremely sharp—_either a bird, or it looks like it could've been done by a…knife? But that can't be right_…__

A little ways up the trunk stood another one of those marks, continuing up until the bark fused with the leaves that crowned the tree, as well as the coconuts that Matthew preyed upon. A determined expression ghosted across blunt features as the blond gripped the first groove that he found, hoisting himself up high enough to jab the fingers of his free hand into the next hold. In this way it didn't take him very long to completely ascend the tree and tentatively reach out to wrap an arm around the coarse coconut, though his balance decided to abandon him as soon as he had secured his fruit; his body lurched to the right as his fingers slipped from the last groove that he held onto, tumbling only a handful of feet to the rough, sandy ground below.

_Well, I guess that could've gone a lot worse!_ Ever resilient, he hopped to his feet, one arm locked around the mid-sized coconut that he managed to nab from the tree, and turned his head to the side to spit out stray grains of sand that clung to his lips from his previous faceplant. _I should explore more of this island, though, now that I have some food_…_ just to make sure nothing's lurking out there. _With that he set off into the densest section of the island's diminutive forest, eyes wide and senses honed in case anything decided to leap out and unsuspectingly attack him.

As he trekked over the dense underbrush, bringing his snack with him, he noticed a seagull making lazy circles above the treetops, occasionally cawing over the sounds of the light breeze. Matthew's thoughts drifted back to the strange marks he saw on the tree trunk on the edge of the island. "Do they even do that?" he wondered out loud. He didn't think so, but then again, he admitted that he didn't know very much about seagulls. _Heh, I'm from Winnipeg; I don't know very much about the ocean at all! _He thought with a small chuckle, desperate for any sort of humor to distract him from his unpromising situation and help him to put on a brave face. For the moment, it seemed to have worked.

The further he walked, the more Matthew became convinced that there were no large animals to worry about. The woods were rather quiet, even calming, and were occasionally dotted with more fruit trees. Starvation would not be an issue for him, at least not a while. It was his thirst, which had decided to finally make an appearance in the back of his throat, which he began to feel concern about. Never once did the Canadian hear the sounds of fresh water running, just the too-salty ocean waves on the shoreline. There could only be one explanation for this: the small island was void of all creeks, springs, and rivers, so the only time clean water touched the ground here was during a rainstorm, like the one last night. He glanced down at the coconut tucked under his arm; the fruit sloshed sweet juice inside its inner cavity with every step the blond man took. Matthew swallowed the thick bitterness forming on his tongue; it was time to break the thing open.

His gaze turned from the treetops to the earth, searching for a decent rock to smash the hull of the fruit with. Much to his dismay, most of the ground was covered with white sand, and the few stones present were rounded and smooth, unfit for the job he needed done. But there was nothing else for him to do, so he persisted in his search, scanning his sight over mounds of sand and leaves and…_aha_! Partially covered in the foliage was a jagged, rectangular rock, which looked somewhat like a stake Matthew might have used to pin down a tent while camping. Breathing a sigh of relief—he was starting to worry—he made his way to the stone, bent over, reached for it…

"You're not welcome here."

The disembodied voice echoed throughout the clearing, freezing Matthew's hand (not to mention his blood) before he could even brush his fingertips against the grey rock. "Wh—who's there?" he called, trying to ignore the way his small tone waivered in his fear.

A moment's silence, and then the call came again, somehow louder and more terrifying to the blond man than before. "This is my island. You're not welcome here."

"I—I'm sorry, but—t I have n—nowhere else to g—go." Internally, Matthew cursed his stutter; he thought that he got rid of that in speech therapy years ago! "P—please, where are you?"

"If you do not leave now," the voice went on, ignoring the man's begging, "then you will regret it."

Matthew knew he should've fled right then and there, yet he found himself rooted to the spot albeit straightening out of his bend. Silence had the chance to pervade for a few moments and took it, faintly punctuated by the distant call of seagulls overhead and frothy waves crashing against the shore that seemed all too far away. "Did you not understand my last warning, boy?" the voice boomed after a moment of patient waiting, "You will regret what is coming to you if you do not leave. _Now."_

_Maybe, if I run for my life, whoever that is will think I've left_… __Abruptly regaining motile ability, Matthew turned in the direction that he deemed quickest to reach the ocean and sprinted away as fast as he could, his grip tautening around the coconut: whatever happened, he couldn't risk losing the source of sustenance that he had struggled to attain in the first place.

In his haste he barely avoided a low-hanging thick branch that almost seemed to lie in wait to clothesline him; something akin to triumph cracked over him as he emerged from the dense vegetation, feet transferring roughly from a cool mix of sand and soil to sun baked, grainy terrain. "What the heck was that?" he voiced his disbelief aloud, figuring that no one was around to hear him, anyway.

He focused his senses on the soundscapes of the tropical beach that surrounded him, listening for any discreet footsteps conveniently concealed by the ocean or the birds. He noticeably jolted as the same deep voice from before rang out, shaking the tepid air, "You cannot fool me! I told you to leave, did I not?"

For one of the first times in his rather short existence, Matthew was at a loss for what to do. Usually his life was already laid out in front of him: grade school, a part-time job, college, the real world. But not now, not this time. "I c-can't leave t-this island, I'm sorry… I-I'll die if I t-try. I have nowhere else to g-go..." he managed through the stutter that he hadn't had to deal with for years, breaking down as his knees hit the sharp sand below.

He waited for the voice to say something more, beads of sweat forming on his brow from the heat and the anxiety coursing through his system. But to his trepidation, the mysterious person didn't reply, and all Matthew heard were the sounds of the waves washing onto the shoreline, the breeze in the treetops, the occasional calls of the gulls in the sky… and _hissing_?

To the Canadian's horror, out of the grass emerged a slithering horde of brown snakes, all larger than any he had seen in his home country and rapidly making their way across the sand. Distantly, his cousin's voice echoed through his subconscious: _"Australia has more poisonous snakes than any other continent, mate, so I recommend that you keep your distance." _At that very moment, one of the frontrunners lifted itself off the ground and hissed noticeably louder than the rest, revealing a pair of vicious fangs on the top of its mouth, terrifying Matthew to the core.

Finally abandoning his coconut at the prospect of impending death by snakebite, Matthew shuffled backwards into the salt water of the ocean in a crabwalk as far as he could go while still keeping his head above the water. The serpents crowded around the coastline, watching and waiting, their beady yellow eyes not looking away from him for an instant.

With shaking knees, Matthew stumbled to his feet, his clothes saturated and dripping from excess water. He took a few tentative steps to the right and watched as the snakes mirrored his movement, effectively blocking his way back onto land. He tried again the other way, and for a while it seemed that they were just going to continue to follow him, but after his tenth pace the serpents paused in their pursuit and simply lingered together. Matthew let himself breathe a small sigh of relief, refusing to entertain any quandaries as to why exactly he had been granted his reprieve in favor of simply enjoying the new, safer distance between himself and the creepers on the dry ground. This is also why he didn't see the pale arm slowly emerging from the sand below him, rising until the tips of its fingers matched the height of his knee.

But when the hand latched onto his leg, Matthew did take notice, and he screamed bloody murder.

It took him twenty-five seconds to run out of breath, but when he finally did, he heard an unusual sound: howls of deep, hysterical laughter. Matthew pried open one eye, and then the other, and looked down to see a person, his lower half still buried under the sand, his upper half limply leaning against the leg he still held firm in his grasp. "I wish you could see the look on your face right now," he managed between his chuckles. "I can't believe you actually fell for that! I thought for sure you'd see me go across the beach and bury myself here," a snort, "but you didn't and you got so scared and…" he trailed off in a fresh bout of cackles.

Matthew's face went through a dozen shades of red in as many seconds. "It's not _funny_!"

The still partially-submerged person shook his head. "It's the funniest thing I've seen in my life!"

"W—wait, those _things_—" Matthew gestured to the gaggle of snakes congregated at the shoreline, "—they don't scare you or anything?" He seemed to have come to his senses for the moment, one flaxen brow quirked mainly in astonishment. _If he's not afraid of them, then..._

The unknown man shook his head. "Nothing to be afraid of! They're just cranky, usually they won't give chase like that," he explained, an amused smile piquing his lips as if he was still trying to hold back his laughter.

"So then… does that mean I did something to provoke them?" Matthew racked his brain as he spoke, rifling through new memories to see if he had stepped on anything out of the ordinary or that could possibly relate to snakes, but to no avail.

His argentine-haired companion tilted his head to each side. "It's what you're carrying—check your pockets."

Without question Matthew's hand dove into both front pockets on his jeans, fingertips unexpectedly bumping against something cool to the touch but hard and smooth. He gingerly lifted whatever it was out of his left pocket and held it up to the sunlight, indigo eyes bulging as recognition dawned upon him. In his hand perched an ivory-hued oval, weighted by the infinitesimal reptile it undoubtedly contained. "A s-snake egg," he muttered in disbelief, all of the acquired color draining from his face. "No wonder they're still hovering around the shore..."

The man beside Matthew held out a hand; in passing the meek blond noticed the innumerable scars sporting shapes of all varieties traced along the other's palm, standing out from the usual, naturally-formed lines. "I'll return the egg for you."

"Won't you get bitten? Aren't those snakes poisonous?"

The amethyst-eyed man shook his head once more, this time forging direct eye contact with his skittish company. "No I won't, and no, they're not. It's possible one might be, but that is of no concern to me. If you hand me the egg, Matvey, you can go back onto the island without having to worry about the snakes."

_What did he call me? Kinda sounded like my name, but how would he know? _Matthew decided then to comply, finally placing the picayune egg into the palm of the partially-submerged man's hand. "T—thanks for this," he stammered, at once remembering basic manners.

"Not a problem!" the other grinned, motioning toward the island as his hand cupped the fragile egg. "You might want to return to land after I distract the snakes, though. Nightfall will come before you know it, and you might want to gather food for the night… unless, of course, you don't mind going hungry."

"What about you?" Matthew asked, as he took a few steps away, watching as the mysterious person spun himself around in the water, though the action kicked up a lot of sand in the process, making the water murky and still obscuring the view of his lower half. "Why aren't you going to come on land? And how do you know all this? And who do you think you are? And why are you here? Why am _I _here?" Each question rose in volume and intensity, a stressful day finally spilling out in a desperate interrogation.

The other man laughed lightly in response. "Ah, my apologies. Ivan Braginsky." The man, Ivan, smiled childishly up at Matthew. "You're going to be my new pet, Matvey."

Needless to say, this was not an answer that Matthew was expecting. "W—wha?"

Ivan didn't respond immediately, instead shimmying closer to the shore and subsequently turning up more sand in the water. He took the egg in his palm and extended his arm out as far as he could, setting his hand down a few short feet away from the furious serpents. From above, Matthew watched as the snakes actually retreated a few inches away from the offering, staring out at the him and hissing amongst themselves. One snake—the mother, Matthew assumed—slithered bravely up to the hand, turning her head around the creamy sphere and flicking her tongue out into the air. Then, she snapped her head out and took up the egg in her mouth before turning around and leading her entourage back into the miniature jungle that composed the center of the island.

"Aww, they don't like me anymore," Ivan whined. "I guess I was asking for it, though, tying them all up in a tree and stealing an egg like that."

Slow realization spread across Matthew's face at the confession. "_You _did this?" he gaped.

"_Da,_" Ivan replied, which the Canadian understood as some word of affirmation. "This was a lot of fun, Matvey. I hope we have lots more fun playing together in the future."

"B—but you—but I—how'd—what the—" It wasn't so much that Matthew's stutter had returned anymore. Now, he just couldn't decide what to say first. "W—what is that you keep calling me? Matvey?" he eventually settled on.

"You had a driver's license in your pocket," the ashen-haired man replied. "I saw that your name was Matthew, but I like Matvey better, so I renamed you."

"You can't just rename someone," Matthew protested, clenching and unclenching his hands.

"Do you still not understand?" Ivan rested his head on his shoulder, tucking his chin under the folds of a well-loved pinkish-white scarf that Matthew just realized he was wearing, an odd sight for a shirtless man off the coast of Australia. "I saved your life. I saw you fall off of that boat and I rescued you. That means that you owe me a life-debt, and you're going to pay it here, on this island, as my new pet human."

Whatever comeback that stirred within Matthew's mind completely abandoned him as he processed what Ivan had just stated. _Pet_…_ human. _"W—what makes you think that you can just declare me your pet? That's completely ridiculous!" Abrupt fury swilled in the form of rouge within the alabaster complexion of his cheeks.

"I've already told you, or were you not listening to what I just said?" Ivan retorted, edging closer to the shore though not without kicking up more sand in the process, adding even more murkiness to the once crystalline cerulean water. "Life-debt. Besides, I don't think you can survive on this island without my help. I'd give you three days, at best. So think of this as me simply helping you, Matvey! It'll be fun!" He shot a glance over his shoulder at Matthew, face adorned once again with an overly-childish grin that added a frightening element to his rather composed expression. "You're free to return to land now, and you won't have to fear those snakes any longer."

"W—wait, aren't you coming, too?" Regaining mobile ability for the second time in that seemingly eternal day, Matthew crossed the handful of yards of sea water that stretched in front of him and stopped once his feet touched damp, solar sand once again, turning partially in Ivan's direction but keeping the forestry of the island within his periphery.

Ivan simply nodded. "Though I love to idle out in the water, I don't like when my fingertips get pruney. Where else would I go?" With an accommodating shrug from the blond, Ivan continued. "Exactly. I'll see you around later today or maybe tonight, you can be sure of that! But for now, I think you should get further acquainted with the island. It will probably be your home for the next few months, to say the least. Don't want any more surprises coming your way, _da?"_

With a groan under his breath Matthew nodded: he couldn't refute the truth underlying Ivan's words, especially since his company seemed to be behind the snakes that chased him out into the ocean in the first place. He turned toward the foliage of the island, though an odd, somewhat out of place slithering sound emitted from behind him: when he turned to look behind him he glimpsed Ivan, but… something seemed off about his appearance. He forced his gaze to turn back in the direction in which he traipsed, though he mentally dissected the image that had been burned into the pinkish slate of his retinas: he could have _sworn _that a fish-like tail fin stuck up from the sand extremely close behind his companion's lower body, yet… that was impossible. But he couldn't deny the silvery scales that he definitely saw adorning the lower part of Ivan's stomach, on his front…

The bitter taste from before kicked up right then against the back of his throat, immediately bringing his thirst to the forefront of his mind. _Must just be dehydration_…_ I've never gone this long without water before. Speaking of which_…__ He set off to either find the coconut he dropped earlier or to locate a new tree bearing ripe fruit. Whichever came first.

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><p><em>To be continued…<em>


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